


In Hotel Rooms

by SeptemberEndings



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Las Vegas, Las Vegas Wedding, Las Vegas/Stripper AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-03-15 20:35:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3461153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeptemberEndings/pseuds/SeptemberEndings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PJ loved Dan and Phil.</p><p>...but did they really have to go to a gay stripper bar?</p><p>Then again, that is where he met his fiance.</p><p>Or, where PJ is just so done with Crabstickz-the-stripper's shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goodgollymissmolly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodgollymissmolly/gifts).



In PJ's defense, it wasn't  _his_ idea to hire the strippers.

And, okay, so it was a bachelor party, and bachelor parties should have strippers--in fact, it was tradition. And PJ was best man, which meant he had to be in charge of all that.

But still, PJ hadn't wanted them, and so no one could blame him for what happened.

God, did PJ hate weddings.

***

Dan and Phil were adorable together, and PJ was happy for them. Really, he was. After all, he'd been friends with them for a long time, since university, and they were always meant to be together. It was so obvious. PJ clearly remembered their awkward dances around each other, remembered the late nights where he was on the phone with the both of them at the same time, trying to convince them to go for it. And when PJ finally walked in on the two of them kissing, he practically fell to his knees and thanked God because Jesus if those weren't the longest four months of his existence.

That being said, PJ  _really_ hadn't wanted to be best man at their wedding.

It was just the stress of it all--the stag night, the best man speech, the weird pressure that comes from odd uncles and aunts who don't want to bug the actual people getting married. But Dan and Phil had been so sweet about asking him, and he couldn't turn them down when Phil was giving him that shy smile and Dan was employing his puppy eyes too well, so now here PJ was, stuck in Las Vegas in some hotel room. And soon, he was going to have to force Dan and Phil and ten of their closest friends out to a gay stripper bar right in the heart of Las Vegas.

Not that he was bitter or anything.

Well, he was, if he was being brutally honest--they had the fairy-tale romance. Sweet kisses in public, soft smiles that could melt any heart, shoulders that fit under arms too perfectly. PJ would hate them if he wasn't too busy being happy for them. 26 years old and getting married, and everyone knew that they were soul mates. PJ didn't even believe in soul mates, and he knew that they were. They were quite literally each other's best friend.

And here PJ was, a starving artist of sorts (making films wasn't exactly the big money-maker), with a day job he absolutely hated and no love life to speak of. It was impossible not to be bitter, really.

PJ let out a huge sigh and flopped down on his hotel bed.

Soon, he'd have to take everyone out to get wasted and horny, and he'd have to pretend to be enjoying himself immensely. 

But first? A nap was in order. Maybe he'd wake up when it was all over.

***

Dan and Phil, the adorable little gits they were, had decided to share a bachelor party, despite the fact that that kind of took away the whole 'bachelor' aspect of it.

PJ didn't mind, though; it meant less work on his end.

And, as aforementioned, it seriously was not his fault that they had strippers. That was totally due to tradition and Caspar Lee's incessant pushing at him for it.

So really, it wasn't PJ's fault. PJ cannot stress this point enough.

* * *

 

"I'm gonna...gonna go to the l-loo," Dan stuttered out, barely audible above the loud music playing.

Phil frowned down at his fiancee, who was currently using him as a crutch. "Are you sure that's a good idea?" he shouted back, his eyebrows knitting together.

"Not iffff you're not...there with meeeee," Dan slurred. His hands went to Phil's chest, roaming around, popping open a button on his shirt. "Watchagonnadoboutit?"

Phil rolled his eyes and pulled Dan's arm around his neck. "C'mon, let's get you there before you start vomiting on the strippers."

"Waaaaittt!" Dan grabbed a shot off the nearest tray and dumped it into his throat. "Hah! I'm soooo good at that," Dan gushed. He dropped his glass. It shattered. Dan laughed.

"If I'm not back in fifteen minutes, it's because this loser killed me as a practical joke," Phil said loudly to PJ, and led Dan off to the nearest bathroom.

PJ rolled his eyes, taking another sip of his beer. He leaned back against the couch, a small smile playing at his lips.  _Ah, the joys of couple-hood,_  he thought to himself, and chuckled quietly.

Or not  _so_ quietly. "Hey, sugar, what's so funny?"

PJ turned his head abruptly, and his eyes widened almost involuntarily. Standing in front of him, was, quite simply, the sexiest man PJ had ever laid eyes on.

He had on black eye-shadow with gold eyeliner, and his cheeks were lined with the same coal and gold color scheme. His lips shimmered silver and copper, and his hair was swept back in a quiff with flecks of gold sprinkled on it. His blue eyes sparked and crackled like a fire. His face was round, but defined at the same time, and oh god his  _body._  

A six-pack that was practically sculpted from marble. All he wore was a pair of metallic gold short shorts that stuck to his skin, revealing a  _very_ nice ass. His whole body was shaved and his skin looked so fucking soft. PJ could feel his heart skip a beat. Probably his dick too.

The stripper had on an infuriating smirk the entire time PJ checked him out, and PJ suddenly felt extremely self-conscious (which was a regular PJ feeling). "Um, sorry," he said, "Who...are you?"

The very hot stripper smiled. "Crabstickz," Hot Stripper introduced himself.

PJ raised his eyebrows.  _"Crabstickz?_  Sorry, what kind of stripper name is that?" _  
_

Crabstickz laughed. "Who said I was a stripper?"

"The ridiculously tight shorts and the money sticking out of them."

"Ah, you have a point," Crabstickz said. "Although these  _do_ make me look good. And maybe I just like having money sticking out of my ass. Don't judge me."

PJ raised his eyebrows. "Okay, you're crazy. You're a crazy stripper."

"Very astute. And while we're at it, you're British," Crabstickz pointed out.

"So why do you call yourself Crabstickz?" PJ asked. He sincerely hoped that the disco lights hid the blush on his face well, even though he knew the bulge in his pants was pretty much a lost cause. Crabstickz, for his part, looked faintly amused. PJ wondered if that was just his natural resting face.

"Why not?"

"Well, that kind of makes people think that you have crabs or something, right?"

Crabstickz shifted and sat down at the table near them, nodding for PJ to do the same. Without thinking, PJ did.

"Well, what does it matter? I'm not a prostitute. But, ah, just for the record, I don't. STD-free."

PJ let himself smile. "Very nice to know, I guess."

Crabstickz smiled. Then frowned. Then smiled again. "So, you don't seem the type to go to gay stripper bars just because," Crabstickz noted.

"Nope, definitely not. Two friends of mine are getting married. This is the bachelor party, or at least it was until they left to have sex in the bathroom."

"In Vegas? Shotgun wedding, then?" Crabstickz asked, raising his eyebrows. 

"Hardly. They've been in love for, like, seven years. They just thought it'd be fun to get married in Vegas, but not a shotgun wedding," PJ explained.

"Ah. And you're the best man, then?"

"Very good, Sherlock."

"My pleasure, Watson," Crabstickz winked.

PJ squirmed a little, and crossed his legs. He traced his finger around the beer bottle that he'd been holding for three hours. It was still half-full.

Crabstickz's grin got impossibly wider. "Pity, the no shotgun wedding thing. I've always loved the idea of it. Might have one myself. You wanna?"

"Um, did you just propose to me?" PJ might not have sounded surprised, because now it was Crabstickz's eyebrows that shot up.

Crabstickz giggled, and it was a full-on giggle, the kind that was so cute that it sounded like it should come from a puppy. "Yeah, I guess I did. You're interesting and I'm having a boring night. So you want to?"

PJ laughed. "Let me think on it and get back to you."

"Ah, the words every man dreads when he proposes," Crabstickz deadpanned.

"What? I thought it was 'no' that they dreaded," PJ pointed out.

"Nope. 'No' is at least brutal and short. 'Let me think on it' means that you're going to sleep with someone else and then marry me anyway for the money," Crabstickz said.

"You're a stripper."

Crabstickz shrugged. "So? It's fun and it pays the rent. I'm probably richer than you anyway, Mr. Starving Artist."

"Now, how did you know?" 

Crabstickz shrugged. "Call it a lucky guess."

"You're on fire tonight," PJ said, smiling.

"Nah, spent all my time talking to you. And you won't even marry me."

PJ laughed, full and genuine. "I can only handle one wedding at a time. Ask me after Dan and Phil are married."

Crabstickz smiled. "So, uh, want a lap dance or something?"

"Shouldn't I buy you dinner first?"

"This is a gay stripper bar and I'm a gay stripper, I'm pretty sure we can go forego that," Crabstickz shot back.

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, that erection sure isn't going away," Crabstickz pointed out. PJ blushed even deeper than he had been.

"Yeah, well, just give me a second to think about my grandmother."

"Ah, that only makes mine worse," Crabstickz said, and without thinking PJ leaned across the table and smacked his arm. Crabstickz moaned loudly over the music, winking at the same time at PJ.  _That cocky little shit. Okay naked grandmother naked grandmother Jesus his gold shorts are tight in_  all  _the right places_ _nope need to think about my grandmother._

"Um..." PJ stumbled over his words, his legs wrapping together more tightly. He took a big gulp of his beer, letting his brain scramble for some witty remark to Crabstickz. "Just so you know...not a starving artist. Starving filmmaker, more like, but I do have a job on the side."

"Interesting," Crabstickz said with a quirk of his eyebrows. His expression was unreadable. PJ laughed uncomfortably. He could feel embarrassment creep up his face, and he ducked his head, rubbing his neck with his hand.

"Wow, you're almost painfully shy. Are you  _sure_  you don't want a lap dance or something? That usually loosens people up," Crabstickz suggested cheerily. 

"Um...you know what, I'd better get going. Nice meeting you though, very nice. You're hot. You probably already know that."

Crabstickz raised his eyebrows. "Look, you're pretty cool and shit, and cute in a shy way too, but I can't let you off the hook like that. I'm a stripper. Time is money. Can you tip me then?"

PJ sighed, but nonetheless took out his wallet. America's bills were green and almost impossible to tell apart, but PJ slid what he was pretty sure was a twenty to Crabstickz. "Is this good?"

"Yeah. Hey, do you have a pen?" Crabstickz asked, holding up the bill to the disco lights to read it. "Also, $1 instead of twenty. I'll shave off forty-nine dollars from my regular price for you, Mr. Not-Fiancee," Crabstickz winked. He did that too much.

"Why a pen and a dollar bill?"

"Wow, how do you have any friends if you just ask questions all the time?"

"Alright, here you go Crabby-stickz." PJ handed him a pen and the bill, rolling his eyes slightly. Crabstickz smiled, his blue eyes electrifying in the backdrop of disco lights and loud music, and handed him back the twenty. Then, to PJ's distinct horror, Hot Male Stripper actually started to  _write_ on the one-dollar bill. Before PJ could even protest, Crabstickz had already capped the pen again, a smirk that should be illegal in twelve countries lighting up on his face.

"You know, with such a bad pun as that, I'm almost reluctant to give you this," Crabstickz said, sliding back the dollar and the pen. 

PJ sighed. "You're giving me back ruined money?"

"Oh, it's just a dollar, relax. Plus, you just basically got my autograph, you know how many people would kill for that?" Crabstickz said, a slight gleam in his eye.

"I'm assuming anyone who has experienced the wonders of your lap dances," PJ said dryly.

"Don't you know it, babe. Now, if you'd excuse me, I need to get back to work. Nice to meet you, PJ. I hope I'll see you again." Then, without any warning, Crabstickz actually  _grabbed PJ and kissed him._  Sparks flew throughout PJ's body, setting his spine on fire and causing PJ's skin to nearly burst into flame. Crabstickz winked and disappeared into the crowd, leaving the taste of chap-stick and makeup stuck on PJ's lips.

Numbly, PJ looked down at the dollar bill that Crabstickz had 'signed'. A number. Crabstickz's number. And, there, under that, a note:

_Time is money, and honey you look like a million bucks. Call me._

_-Your Future Husband_


	2. Chapter 2

_C'mon, PJ. Just dial the fucking number._ _You've been sitting here for thirty minutes. You're such. A. Coward._

PJ stared down at the ruined dollar bill, at the fast and messy scrawl all over it. Was he really going to call a stripper? Like, isn't there some kind of rule against dating strippers?

_Are strippers even allowed to go on dates?_

PJ sighed and flopped down onto his stupid hotel bed, staring at the dumb message written on it.  _Your Future Husband._ PJ blushed, and wow, was he honestly blushing over a weird letter that a bored stripper wrote him in the middle of the dance club?

God, PJ was just so pathetic sometimes.

Tossing the dollar bill/note away, PJ stood up, and stretched his neck out before checking the time on his phone. 1:17 p.m. Good. That meant he only had a 30% chance of walking into an accidental Dan and Phil porno.

He threw on skinny jeans over his boxers and walked across the hall, opening the door without even knocking.

Dan and Phil immediately sprung apart, wiping at their kiss-swollen lips. PJ raised his eyebrows. "Since when do you care whether or not I catch you making out?"

"Well, you didn't knock," Phil defended, standing up, and God, he was really only wearing underwear. PJ didn't really want to think about what he would have seen if he'd waited five minutes.

PJ just shrugged and threw himself into the armchair without a reply. If he was being completely honest, his mind was still on the stupid note left by Crabstickz. What if it was actually the number for a crack house or something? PJ didn't even know Crabstickz's real name.

"PJ? Buddy? You still here?" Dan's snapping his fingers right in front of PJ's face and PJ groans and pushes Dan's hands out of his face.

"Dude? Was that really necessary? I'm right here," PJ points out. "You could have said my name."

"I did. Five times." Dan cocks one eyebrow, clearly meaning,  _I'm not impressed with you you stupid shit._ "What's on your mind, you weird Space Explorer?" _  
_

"Nothing," PJ says. He might have answered slightly quicker than he meant to, because now Dan looks horrifyingly thoughtful. "No, seriously, it's nothing. Please don't psychoanalyze me. Please."

Phil laughs. "Does our little Peej have a secret?" He asks in a baby voice and goddammit, he's supposed to be the  _nice_ one. 

"No."

"That's what everyone with secrets say," Dan points out.

"Yeah, well, that's what everyone without secrets say too," PJ tries.

"Nuh-uh, you have a secret," Dan says, dragging out 'secret' way too long and ends up sounding like a third-grader. PJ rolls his eyes, because basically that's all he can do when being friends with idiots like these.

"And it's gonna stay a secret," PJ promises.

And, seriously, PJ is never going to try and underestimate his best friends again because all of a sudden Phil just clicks his fingers together and announces, "You sir, have a crush!"

PJ hates blushing. He does it entirely too often.

Dan's already all over it, pushing PJ out of his chair and holding PJ up by his shoulders, nearly shouting, "Oh my god you have a crush you git and you didn't tell me how dare you oh my god who is it when did this happen are you two gonna get married and have babies oh my god--"

"Dan. Calm. Down. I'm not engaged. I haven't even called them yet."

"Oh. Right," Dan says, deflating a little, and PJ feels the teeniest bit guilty until Dan inflates right back up and beams. "So when are you gonna call them? Is it a he? She?"

"He," PJ says, and really he doesn't mean to be so damn red right now. He's just thinking about the gold shorts and coal-lined eyes.

"So when are you gonna call him?" Dan persists, and Phil's right there, nodding along.

PJ pulls at his shirt, looking down. "Um, well, 'm not sure if I'm gonna?" PJ says, not meaning to make it sound like a question.

"What do you mean?" Dan asks, sounding honestly confused. PJ  _really_ doesn't want to explain the situation. Because as much as PJ like to pretend he's okay with it, in reality Crabstickz is a stripper, and no matter how cool Crabstickz may be, people just don't date strippers. That's not a thing.

And PJ doesn't even know his real name.

"I mean, that, I met him in the club, and I don't...I mean...it's complicated," PJ stumbles out. He's never really been that great with words.

"The club? You mean, stag night?" Phil asks slowly. PJ can't blame him; PJ's gone off on said clubs about a thousand times and has made it very clear he hates going anywhere but his room, and the first time he actually goes to one he meets someone.

"Yeah, we started talking, and um, he gave me his number. I'm not even sure I know his real name," PJ says.

"So he gave you his number but not his name?" 

"Well...yeah," PJ says and it sounds as sketchy as it really is.

Phil shares a look with Dan, and they seem to have an entire conversation without speaking a word, which is equal parts impressive, cute and annoying as hell, because PJ's sitting  _right in front of them._

"I say you go for it," Dan eventually speaks up, ignoring Phil's warning glances. "I mean, what do you have to lose?"

"Other than all your money," Phil chips in.

"You're supposed to be the nice one," PJ says, this time out loud.

Phil shrugs. "I mean, I just don't want you to get hurt or anything."

PJ sighs. "Look, I can hardly hold a conversation with the guy. It's...you know, I get..."

Dan laughs. "Go for it, just so I can see your face when you see that dude."

PJ throws the nearest pillow he can find at Dan. "You're so stupid," PJ mutters.

Dan sighs. "Call him. Please?"

PJ groans. "How about maybe?"

Dan glares at him. "You're doing it."

Phil shrugs and God he needs to stop doing that and actually have some input. 

Dan smiles at him and PJ knows that's basically the end of it. He relents. "Fine."

Dan does a happy dance around the hotel room for the next twenty minutes, so loud that there are three complaints from the room below them.

("I'm just living vicariously through you and your love life," Dan argues to PJ after PJ scolds him.

PJ just gives him a harsh look.

"You're getting married."

"Oh. Yeah. That.")

***

"Hello?"

Crabstickz's voice sounds kind of exhausted and weary, and despite it being afternoon, PJ feels kind of bad for calling. Still, he presses on. "Uh, hey? Crabstickz, I think? It's, uh, PJ. From the club."

"Oh! Hey, PJ! I didn't think you were actually going to call!" Crabstickz says cheerfully, and PJ hears some shifting in the background and low voices talking. "Uh, give me a second?" 

"Yeah, of course," PJ says, wiping his already-sweaty palms on his jeans.

There are more low voices and a cutting  _"I don't care, this is important!"_ from Crabstickz, and then the end of the phone is silent before Crabstickz pipes back up again. "Okay, sorry about that, but now I have all my undivided attention for you, Pretty Boy," Crabstickz says, and PJ can practically hear the wink in his voice. _  
_

"Um, I'm sorry, was that important?" PJ asks, sounding even awkwarder than he felt.

"Nah, nothing that was more important than you," Crabstickz promises, and PJ feels pathetic because his jeans are already fucking tightening and he can't even  _see_ Crabstickz.

"Yeah, okay. Hey, um, what's your name? And, I mean, not just your stripper name. If we're going to do this for real, I don't wanna call you that," PJ says.

"Do...what, exactly? Like, what do you want out of this? Because if I'm a booty call..." Crabstickz says, and he actually sounds almost nervous. PJ smiles involuntarily at that.

"No, no. I'd like, to, um, go on a date with you? If that's okay? You just seemed really cool. So."

"Chris," Crabstickz immediately responds.

"What?"

"That's my name. Chris," Chris says, sounding a whole lot happier.

"What? No last name?" PJ teases.

"As if I know yours," Chris points out.

"It's Liguori, for your information," PJ says. He's not entirely sure if this is how the flirting thing works, but at least Crabstickz-- _Chris_ \--sounds happy.

"Hmm...interesting," Chris muses.

"So?"

"So what?"

"So, what's yours?" PJ says, trying awfully hard not to sound like a lovesick teenager. That's what he felt like. Without the lovesick. Because he's not in love. That would be crazy.

"How about I tell you if our third date goes well," Chris says.

"Oh, third? I'm assuming our first date went well?"

"Oh, fantastically, but how about you experience yourself? Tomorrow, downtown at Nona Mia's? Say, 6 o'clock?" Chris asks, and damn that was smooth.

"It's a date," PJ says, and wow he shouldn't be this excited.

"Damn right it is," Chris says, and there's another wink in his voice before the line abruptly goes dead.

PJ just laughs, because what else can he do? He's got a date with a  _stripper._

And he's never been more excited.

 


	3. Chapter 3

PJ's been standing in front of the mirror for thirty minutes, and really he  _should_ be going now.

But the problem is, he just doesn't look  _right._ Thirteen outfits in thirty minutes and each of them is worse than the last, which didn't even make _sense_ to him. Plus, he usually didn't even care what he looked like, so all of the frustration had doubled, maybe tripled for him.

PJ sighed and tugged at the newest shirt he'd tried, just a simple blue button-down that fit well, along with black jeans that were clean (as far as he could tell). It should be fine--in any other situation it would be a perfectly fine and normal outfit (in any other situation PJ would throw on anything at all and walk out of the door)--but now it felt like the shirt was too tight on his abdomen, like the skinny jeans accented all the worst parts of him.

PJ hadn't had a date in a while, but he was pretty sure he'd never stressed out  _this much_ before one before. It was like he was in high school again, only this time it really did matter to PJ whether or not he managed to impressed the person, and all the anxiety was giving PJ a headache. He tugged at the shirt again, wondering whether or not the buttons were too big on it.

PJ groaned and almost punched the mirror, because  _god_ he was such a loser. Chris had better feel pretty damn special.

Right. He was stressing out this much over a  _stripper_ as well.

PJ checked his watch. He really should be going soon, but the problem was that there were too many goddamned problems for him. For a second, PJ wondered whether or not he should just give up and show up naked. At least it'd make a statement. Even if it did get him arrested.

Then PJ shook his head, because that was crazy, and instead grabbed a wallet, stuffing it in his back pocket. He resisted the instinct to check himself in the mirror one last time, and rolled all the tension out of his shoulders. He took a deep breath, counted to five, and released.

He was ready. And after all, it was just a date at some stupid restaurant.  _He didn't need to worry._

***

He did need to worry.

This restaurant was super fancy. As in,  _super fancy._  

Like, if PJ pooled together all of his money that he'd ever made in his life and bought the most expensive tuxedo he could afford with it, he'd still be under-dressed for Nona Mia's.

Every surface dripped with luxury. The tables were made of flawless, polished mahogany, covered with gauzy, spotless white tablecloths. Crystal and diamond chandeliers hung from the ceiling lazily, filled with actual, flickering vanilla candles that burned bright and strong. The ceilings were arched and positively cavernous, and the walls were painted a gorgeous ruby color that almost seem to sparkle and dance in the low lighting.

As soon as PJ entered, he felt absolutely justified in the anxiety he felt.

He fidgeted and gaped in the foyer for about two seconds, when a beautiful woman almost floated up to him, wearing a white gown that rippled down her slender body like it was made of water. She gave him a polite, albeit strained, smile, revealing perfectly straight white teeth. "Hello," she said in a voice made of silver. "My name is Melissa, and I am the hostess. Would you like a seat...or do you have the right address...?"

PJ didn't blame her for the judgmental look in her eyes, because he was wearing black skinny jeans that he wasn't even sure were  _clean_ in a restaurant that looked like it was built to serve princes and princesses.

Chris,  _a stripper,_ had suggested  _this place?_

"Um. I'm not sure. Uh, this is Nona Mia's, correct?"

"Yes," Melissa said. Her tone was slightly. PJ shifted uncomfortably.

"Okay...um. Has anyone by the name of Chris come by? Just. You know. Actually. You don't. Sorry. Um--" PJ rambled, before he was cut off by a bright expression on her face, as if she'd been struck by lightning and had seen the face of God or something.

"Oh! Are you Mr. PJ Liguori?" she asked, and he was surprised to hear some excitement laced into her tone.

"Uh, yeah, that's my name," PJ said, his eyebrows pushed close together. What the  _fuck_ was going on here?

"Ah, that explains everything," the hostess said, and she laughed. An actual laugh, that sounded like running water and bells tinkling. She smiled brightly at him this time, no strain in the easy curl of her lips. "He always does have a strange taste," she said, almost to herself.

"Ms...?" PJ asked, completely lost.

"Right, of course. My apologies, Mr. Liguori, ah, right this way," she said, and floated off into the restaurant, beckoning for him to follow.

PJ, speechless at the odd encounter, had no choice but to follow her, where she led him to... _oh. Wow._

If PJ thought Chris was stunning in the club wearing nothing but makeup and skintight shorts, the man in front of PJ at the moment was almost ethereal.

He had bright, electric blue eyes and a shadow of stubble across his cheeks and chin. His glossy brown hair fell in waves down his forehead, and a light little smirk played at his lips. There wasn't a trace of makeup on Chris at the moment, but he still had his flawless, creamy skin, and he wore a suit perfectly tailored to fit him in  _all_ the right places. PJ couldn't keep his eyes off of Chris.

Melissa gave them a knowing smile and drifted away once more, leaving the two of them alone. PJ didn't make any move, still studying the man in front of him.

Wow.

Just. Wow.

"Hey, sit down and stay awhile," Chris said, just as playful as in the club. PJ had a bizarre flashback to it, where the place had smelled like spilled beer and old sweat and the music had been way too loud. He couldn't connect this man and Crabstickz together, couldn't place Chris where Crabstickz had been.

"PJ?" Chris's voice was a little worried now.

"Wha...? Oh. Sorry. Um. You look really good," PJ said lamely, pushing out the chair in front of him and sitting down. He felt  _so_ out of place, because everything, including this man, was just too perfect for PJ.

"So do you," Chris said approvingly, and the annoyingly sexy smirk hadn't left Chris's lips yet.

"Yeah, right, maybe if I wanted to go to a McDonald's or something. I'd only be able to afford this place if I sold my firstborn child and traded three thousand pounds of cocaine on the black market," PJ blurted out without thinking. He then felt a  _very_ strong urge to bang his head into the stupidly expensive table, because  _nice going PJ._

Thankfully Chris just threw back his head and laughed, a low sound that ripped through PJ's body and left him breathless. Chris laughed and laughed, and laughed some more, and then stopped only to wipe his eyes with the honest-to-god silk napkin that they had in place of, you know, actual napkins.

"Oh my god,  _PJ,_ " Chris said. "It's really not that expensive."

"How are you affording it then?" PJ shot back, which he was actually wondering. Because Chris was a stripper. PJ was pretty sure strippers couldn't afford places like this.

"Oh, easy. I'm selling my firstborn child, but luckily it only costs one thousand pounds of cocaine instead of three, or else I'd be screwed," Chris said easily.

"No, but really. How are you affording this?" PJ asked, because he really was curious.

Chris's eyes darkened for half a second before bouncing back. He smiled, and it could be forced, but PJ hadn't known Chris that long to be able to tell. "Ah, never mind that," Chris said, his smirk fixed in place once more.

"Okay, then. Why did you take me here?" PJ asked again, because he was wondering. "I mean, I bet it's super good but. I'm not royal or anything."

"Oh. Yeah, I just took you here so I could see your face and laugh my ass off," Chris said wryly.

"Excuse you. All the faces I make are beautiful," PJ defended. "You just can't handle my angelic looks."

"Keep dreaming, Liguori," Chris said, his smirk growing. 

No one should look that sexy while smirking. PJ should make it illegal.

"I will. Hopefully none of them will have you in them," PJ pouted.

"Oh, please. You have wet dreams about taking me," Chris dismissed.

PJ could feel himself blush on every square inch of his body, but he was determined not to let it show. "Well, I think those would actually be called wet nightmares."

"I could make you pay for this dinner, you know," Chris pointed out.

"And then you'd win an award for the worst first date ever," PJ replied. Chris smiled, big and wide and toothy, and PJ felt his heart constrict a little.

"See, that was what I was going for in the first place," Chris said. "You've ruined all my plans.

PJ smiled and laughed and relaxed, because he'd never been able to  _just talk_ before. Like, he just felt good and happy and nice around Chris, and despite the fact that they were in the most expensive place PJ had ever been to (and PJ went to fucking Buckingham Palace), Chris just made him feel at home.

Which wasn't weird. Not at all. 

Okay, probably a little. But the important thing was that PJ liked Chris, and Chris was paying for this meal. (If he didn't, well, PJ wasn't kidding about selling his firstborn.)

***

Everything went surprisingly well, considering that it was  _PJ_ on a date.

They talked all night, even through the food (a dish PJ couldn't pronounce that was pretty good and lobster), and it turned out they had the same opinions on everything that mattered. Everything that didn't they playfully argued about, and there wasn't any mishaps or anything.

The only really weird thing was Chris. Or, more specifically, Chris's money.

Every time they got near to the subject, Chris first clammed up and then successfully steered the conversation away before PJ could dig any deeper.

Which, you know, wasn't weird at all. 

PJ would just ask him later about it, if they ever got to another date.

At the end of it, Chris took the check, laughing a little when PJ didn't even offer to pay for it, and they got into the same cab, where PJ gave directions to his hotel.

Chris smiled at him a little, and under the Vegas lights he glowed brighter than any of the neon signs.

"Thanks," PJ said, hardly above a whisper. It felt like if he talked any louder, he'd wreck whatever  _this moment_ was.

"No problem," Chris said, just as soft. "I had a lot of fun."

It could just be the rose-colored neon sign that had just passed by the cab, but PJ could almost swear that Chris had blushed a little bit.

"Um. Will I...can I see you again?" PJ asked, feeling every bit of an idiot.

Chris smiled. "Of course, PJ. I'll call you."

Before PJ could say anything else, the cab driver pulled over to the curb, and PJ belatedly realized that oh, they were in front of his hotel.

PJ started to reach into his wallet, but Chris stopped him with a smile, instead pulling out a credit card. "I'll pay," Chris said.

"But--"

"PJ. Don't argue." And it was too late, because the cab driver had already swiped the card through. PJ felt a bit like an asshole, because Chris had paid for the ridiculously expensive dinner  _and_ the cab ride. Like, wow, nice going PJ. Way to assert your manliness there.

"Is there anything I can do to repay you?" PJ asked, hovering a bit near the cab. Guilt was kind of eating at his insides already.

"Uh, yeah." And without any other warning Chris leaned in and smashed his lips into PJ's.

It wasn't slow or gentle or any way that a kiss should be, but it still set fireworks off in the pit of PJ's stomach. For a second PJ thought he'd actually passed out or something because he got so lightheaded.

Chris leaned back just as fast, wiped his lips off, and gave PJ a wink. "I'll call you," he said, all the swagger of Crabstickz back, and the cab driver started driving again before PJ could even respond.

Instead, he just stared at the cab until it disappeared into the haze of pollution.

***

"Oh, hey, you're back," Dan said when PJ stumbled into Dan and Phil's room, hands on his lips. "How'd it go?"

"Good," PJ breathed out. "Great. Just...wow."

 


	4. Chapter 4

PJ wakes up with daylight punching his eyelids and his phone screaming at him.

He groans, because  _damn_ his  _head,_ before rolling over and pressing the answer button.

"Unnhh...I mean, yeah?" PJ says, staring at the weird yellow-brown-white color of his ceiling. It doesn't actually look all that  _sanitary,_ but, y'know, whatever. It's just a hotel.

"Wow, you sound cheery," Dan says over the receiver.  _Loudly._ PJ winces, the sound wedging itself in his temple like a piece of glass.

"How are you so happy? You had twice the shots I did," PJ halfway whines into the phone.

"Well, morning sex is pretty grea--"

"Stop. Right there. No more words or I swear to God."

"Okay, okay," Dan says, laughing. Each hiccup of it sent a shock-wave through PJ and he decides  _never_ to get drunk again.  _Goddammit Dan,_ PJ thinks.

"Why aren't you over here anyway? We literally are five steps apart from each other," PJ points out, mostly just for the sake of being grumpy.

"Ah, but you forget. I am the laziest goddamn person in the entire universe."

"What. Do. You. Want?" PJ bites out, because he is  _so not in the mood._

"Calm down, Prissy-Pants. What happened to that whipped look on your face last night, and you moaning on and on about  _Chris_ this and  _Chris_ that?" Dan asks mockingly.

(He might have said more than that, actually, but PJ kind of zones out for a second because he's imagining putting Dan's decapitated head on a stick.)

"PJ?" Dan asks, snapping PJ out of it.

"Huh?"

"Are you gonna meet Phil and me for lunch or not?" He sounds kind of impatient, which PJ thinks is a bit unfair. And, probably fair in reality, but whatever.

"Uh, yeah, sure," PJ says, even though his head is pounding out the drum part to American Idiot.

"Okay, meet us in the lobby in like fifteen minutes," Dan says happily.

PJ frowns, because fifteen minutes? "That quick? It's still morning," PJ points out.

"Wow, you're really hungover, aren't you?" Dan says, sounding more amused than he really should. 

"Shut  _up,_ I did it for you," he halfheartedly argues. 

"Yeah, well, it's like 1 in the afternoon. So I'll see you downstairs," Dan says easily, and then immediately afterwards hangs up.

PJ groans and rolls over, pressing his face in the pillow. This day was probably either going to go extremely well or horribly wrong. Really, with Dan and Phil, there was  _no_ in between.

***

PJ's starting to regret agreeing to lunch with Dan and Phil, because how in love they are is actually worsening PJ's headache.

And, like, he knows that they're getting married and the cutest couple on the planet, but they really  _could_ take it down a few notches.

Literally, Dan's sitting on Phil's lap, and they're kissing every few minutes like they haven't seen each other in years, which is ridiculous. And Dan's smile is stretched too wide across his kiss-swollen lips, and Phil's got this soft look in his eyes as he plays with Dan's hair, and Dan's stealing Phil's fries and pressing little kisses to Phil's nose whenever he pouts, and like.

Ew.

"Ew," PJ actually voices.

Dan makes a face at PJ, but at least Phil has the decency to push Dan (carefully) off of his lap. Dan frowns. Phil rolls his eyes and presses a little peck to the side of Dan's head.

PJ feels like gagging, and pushes away his burger. It was hardly touched, anyway.

They're at this little greasy-spoon place tucked away at the edge of downtown Las Vegas. The paint is dirty and peeling off of the walls, the upholstery is frayed and this awful shade of red, and it _still_ costs an astronomical amount for three burgers and shakes. PJ wonders, yet again, how Chris managed to pay the meal last night when all three of them can barely pull enough cash together for this horrible diner.

"So, tell us about your date last night," Dan says, as if he can fucking read PJ's mind or something. His eyes are glittering annoyingly. There is no way PJ's getting out of this.

"It was...good," PJ says slowly, thoughtfully. "Really...good."

"What kind of place did he take you to?" Dan pushes. Phil nods along, wanting all of the details.

"A...nice one," PJ says, carefully. For some reason, he feels like he can't tell them about the extravagance, at Chris's carelessness about that kind of money. He felt like that was something that was strictly between him and Chris right now, which was weird, but still. 

"Wow, nice description there," Phil chips in.

PJ raises one eyebrow. "Seems like Dan's been rubbing off on you," he points out.

Phil blushes, but Dan almost preens, throwing his arm around Phil. "More like Dan's been  _in_ Phil, amiright?" He grins, as if this was actually appropriate to discuss in a  _public place._

Or at all.

"First off, no, Dan," Phil says before PJ can do anything. "Second off, I think we both know it's the other way around."

"Shut  _up,_ " both PJ and Dan say at the same time.

Dan frowns at PJ. "Don't talk to my fiance like that."

"What? You just said the exact same thing!" PJ points out.

"Yeah, but I also have the right to kiss him and have sex with him. You don't, and you don't have this right either," Dan says, as if that made  _any_ sense.

PJ's just about to point out this extremely flawed logic, when all of a sudden his phone rings, shrill and loud, from his back pocket.

He groans, fishing it out and staring at the caller ID with unseeing eyes. All he's really thinking about is how much he needs to change that ringtone.

"Are...you gonna answer that?" Phil asked.

"Oh. Yeah," PJ says, and clicks the answer button. "Hello?"

"Hey!" And it's Chris, and  _whoa._ Some strange feeling flows through PJ, fast and strong, and he suddenly feels antsy, like he needs to walk. Or run a marathon. Or both.

Instead, PJ holds up a finger to Dan and Phil, and gets up and walks out of the restaurant, hands gripping his phone like it was a precious jewel or a baby or something.

"Hey," PJ breathes out. "Wait, I've already said that. Hi. Shit."

Chris giggles and it lights PJ's heart on fucking fire. "You're cute. You look great right now, by the way."

"You can't  _see_ me," PJ says, and now the fire has spread to his stomach.

"Yeah, and I'm angry about that. Let's change it," Chris says. 

"How?"

"Second date, I'm thinking? End of this week?" Chris sounds breathless and excited, which PJ thinks is good because he feels breathless and excited too.

"Sounds good! Wait...no, I can't. Rehearsal Dinner," PJ says, thinking. "Um. What about...Thursday?"

"That soon? Why, my dear PJ, are you that eager?" Chris asks, teasing. It's a different kind of teasing than Dan and Phil, though, and PJ feels like he's melting and freezing up too, in the best possible way.

"Yes."

"Good, me too. I'll see you then," Chris says, and PJ can hear the smile in his voice. 

"See you then," PJ echoes, and he hears the high-pitched tone that signals the end of the call, but he can't really bring himself to put the phone down yet. 

And then, he hears the weirdest sucking noise from right behind him.

PJ turns around to see both  _Dan_ and  _Phil_ blowing fucking raspberries into the window while a waitress stands obviously not amused behind them.

PJ just laughs and thinks that maybe his life is fucking perfect after all.

***

"You need to give us more than  _that,_ " Dan groans, banging his hands on the table loudly.

An old woman two booths over gives them a dirty look and Dan gives her the finger without hesitation.

PJ feels like banging his head against the wall yet again, and wonders if this is a normal feeling for people with close friends.

"What more is there to say? He's cute and charming and I like him a lot," PJ defends.

"Come  _on._ What are his eyes like? Is he hot? Or just cute? How would you define 'cute'? Like, 'I wanna bang him into the wall' cute? 'I'm Phil Lester let  _me_ bang you into the wall' cute? What about--"

"Dan, there are  _children,_ " Phil hisses out.

"And there are pressing matters," Dan waves him off.

"We're going to get kicked out."

"And PJ needs to tell us about his  _boyfriend_ ," Dan says.

"He's not my  _boyfriend,_ " PJ says, blushing like a fucking schoolgirl or something.

"And Phil's not my fiance," Dan says sarcastically.

"We've been on one date."

"And you came back more of a mess than I was after the first time I took Phil up the ass," Dan says seriously.

"You mean the first time we had sex?" Phil asks.

"I don't  _always_ bottom," Dan protests.

"Riiiiiiight," Phil and PJ say at the same time. 

"Fuck off," Dan groans, and the old woman shoots them another dirty look. Dan shouts, "FUCK!" at the top of his lungs and gives the old lady two middle fingers again.

PJ has  _got_ to find better friends.

"Anyway, boyfriend. Tell me," Dan says.

"There's nothing to tell," PJ tries.

"Come on."

"No."

"Please?"

_"No."_

"I'll call your mum and tell her about the time you--"

"What do you want to know?"

"Hair color?" Dan asks, eyes bright.

"Brown."

"Cute," Dan observes.

"And...his eyes are blue. Like, really blue? Cute. Very, very cute. He honestly looks like he should be a movie star or something, and God, he wore this _suit_ that just made him look like a prince," PJ says. It might sound dreamy. Shut up.

"And you're going on a date with him Thursday?" Phil pries, a small smile on his face. It's almost  _knowing,_ and PJ tries not to think too hard on that.

"Uh, yeah. I'm glad that I, y'know, get to see him again," PJ says softly. "Cuz. Y'know. We only have, like, a week and a half left here. And, I just. Really like him."

 _"Shit,_ " Dan all of a sudden mutters. "Have you told him?"

"I told him I was in town for a wedding," PJ says.

"Yeah, but. I mean. Peej, just. Shit, long-distance relationships don't work out too well," Dan says, and he's uncomfortably serious.

Something falls in the pit of his stomach, because  _shit,_ he was right. 

"I just. But. I really like him?" PJ says, and it sounds more like a question than it really should.

"I'm sorry, Peej," Phil says. "If it helps, I think you should give it a shot."

"Give  _what_ a shot? Like, I'll have been on two dates with him and then whoops, I have to leave! Guess I have to Skype you," PJ points out.

"You'll figure something out," Phil says.

But  _shit,_ the thing is--PJ's not so sure.

And he really, really likes Chris is the thing. More than he should by any right, but like...still. And a week and a half? That was like a blink of an eye, and it wasn't like he could very well ask Chris to wait for him. Wait for what? It's not like PJ could afford a plane ticket out here every weekend. Fuck, he could hardly pay his rent every month.

His heart was already hurting at the thought of leaving that fucking ridiculous stripper, and wow. He was so screwed.

 


	5. Chapter 5

They were in a  _jet._

A fucking  _jet._

No one else was on board, either; the engine was just a soft hum in the background, and there was a huge leather couch in the center of the passenger chamber, instead of rows of uncomfortable upholstered seats. A bar sat in the far corner, and an actual coffee table sat in front of the couch, bolted to the floor. Books and magazines were spread all across it, as well as three iPads.

PJ knew that something had to be up when Chris had shown up in a limo and holding a silk blindfold, but he'd definitely not expected  _this._

PJ swallowed. "Just...how rich are you?" He asked quietly, running his hand over the couch. It was soft and smelled like cedar.

Chris shrugged. "Rich enough," he said easily. "You want a drink or something?"

PJ shook his head. "I want to make sure that this isn't some kind of hallucination made by my addled brain," PJ said.

Chris collapsed on the couch easily, a soft smile caressing his lips. "Whatever you say."

PJ looked over at Chris, and felt like cursing.

He was just so...pretty. Right now, he just wore a navy v-neck, an old zip up hoodie, black jeans, and patched brown hiking boots, and still--he was a  _sight._ His hair was ruffled perfectly, and his eyes glittered mischievously. PJ knew that if he moved any closer, he'd smell expensive soap and hear the beat-beat- _thump_ of Chris's obnoxiously loud heart. PJ felt dizzy, like he'd already drunk twelve shots.

"I missed you," Chris said.

PJ raised his eyebrows almost involuntarily. "I mean--you've only gone on one date with me," he said sheepishly.

"And I missed you," Chris insisted. 

"I missed you too," PJ blurted out, before he could even think.

Chris smiled, and patted the seat next to him. "C'mon, sit down then. The couch doesn't bite, you weirdo."

PJ forced out a laugh, and sat down on the couch next to him.

 _Two weeks,_ a voice whispered from inside his brain, unbidden. PJ sighed.

"Hey, what's with the long-suffering sigh? You're with  _me,_ " Chris protested.

"It's--nothing," PJ tried.

Chris gave him a look.

"Really. I don't want to talk about it."

"Well, if you didn't want to talk about it, then you wouldn't be sighing. C'mon, I don't want to be dealing with Mopey the Lame Eighth Dwarf all night," Chris pushed, scooting closer to PJ.

PJ's blood pressure spiked, squashing his brain to mush. Chris's thigh was _almost_ touching his.

"PJ?"

"There's--there's no eighth dwarf," PJ said, sounding breathless.

"Yes, there is, but the other dwarves kicked him out because he was messing with their feng shui," Chris said knowledgeably.

"Do dwarves even have feng shui?"

"You're avoiding the question," Chris said, knocking PJ's knee with his own.

PJ stopped breathing for a whole ten seconds.

 _"PJ,"_ Chris said, sounding irritated.

"Sorry, I just. Well." He pushed his hand through his hair, pressing his lips together. "I have to leave.  _Fuck,_ I have to go to another country before my two weeks is even up, and I just--you--I really like you. Even after one date. And I don't want to go, not yet."

"Oh," Chris said. 

"Yeah."

Chris kicked at the carpet. "You sure you don't want that drink?"

PJ laughed. "So you've got no solution?"

"Oh, I've got plenty of solutions," Chris said. "I just also have plenty of champagne."

PJ eyed him. "What?"

"All kinds; French, Italian, some from fifty or more years ago, which just tastes  _sublime--"_

"What do you mean, you have solutions?"

"Oh," Chris said. "I was offered a job in London, a few weeks ago. I've been debating whether to take it, and I'm starting to think I should. You know, I was going to tell you. It was going to be really romantic too, with fireworks and kissing and some of that champagne I told you about, but then you had to go ruin it by imitating Mopey."

"First off, Mopey doesn't exist, and you're crazy. Second off,  _what?"_

"That's your favorite word, isn't it?"

It could be the night air or the fact that they were in a private jet soaring hundreds of feet above a neon-lit city, but PJ kind of wanted to kiss Chris, even when he was being obnoxious. He kind of always wanted to kiss Chris, actually.

"You're serious? You got offered a job in London?"

"Well, yeah," Chris said. "It'd be a two-month thing at most, but. I really like you too, and..." He rubbed at his neck. It was turning an impressive shade of red. "I dunno. We could try it out, see where we go from there?"

There was a sinking feeling in PJ's stomach, making him feel both luxuriously full and sick at the same time. "I couldn't ask you to do that."

Chris shrugged. "Why not?"

"Because. You've got your life here, and--"

"PJ," Chris said suddenly, cutting him off. He reached for PJ's hands. Little sparks shot through them, making his hands feel warm, shooting his blood with too much electricity.  _"PJ."_

"Yes?" PJ managed to squeak.

"I've got no life here. I mean, sure, it's fun, but," Chris looked down at their intertwined hands. "You're just...I mean, this is gonna sound crazy, but you've made me feel alive for the first time in years."

"You're twenty-six," PJ said, confused.

"I feel a lot older."

PJ stared at him. "You...don't just strip, do you?" PJ asked.

Chris gave him a smile that wasn't half-there. "You're not too quick, are you?" He teased.

"What do you do?"

"It's not illegal," Chris insisted.

"Wow, that's a great start."

"We'll get to it later," Chris said. He placed a hand on PJ's cheekbone. Every inch of PJ felt it;  every receptor was standing on end. "Just...do you like me, PJ?"

"Oh, God, yes," PJ said. It came out more like a mumble, because half of his muscles wouldn't work because of Chris and his hot, sweet breath blowing across the planes of PJ's face.

"Then let me do this. For you. For me," he whispered. He was so close now. If PJ moved the slightest bit...

"Okay," PJ said.

Chris smiled and brushed his lips against PJ's.

***

PJ was dropped off at the hotel three hours later with kiss-swollen lips, a box of chocolates, and a large bouquet of flowers.

So large, that PJ had a tough time swiping his key card through the lock of his hotel room. He accidentally crushed two of them, large things with sharp petals that were bright neon blue. As they were crushed, they let out a plume of fragrance so sweet PJ almost sneezed.

When he finally managed to kick the door open, he found Dan sitting at the hotel desk and Phil half-asleep on the bed.

"What--are--you-- _doing?_ " PJ huffed, toeing off his shoes and kicking one at Dan. It missed, and hit a bedpost with a dull  _thud._ Phil snapped awake.

"Waiting for you to come back from your date," Dan said easily, eyeing the bouquet of flowers. "Those  _yours_?"

"Yeah," PJ said. "Chris gave 'em to me."

" _And_ that huge box of chocolates?"

"Yup," PJ said. He carefully laid the box down on an ottoman, and slid the flowers onto the TV stand. "And you're not allowed any of them, by the way."

Dan pouted.

Phil, however, was eyeing the box, which was decorated with glinting gold foil and calligraphy over the top, in French. "How much did that  _cost_?" he asked.

PJ blushed. "I-I dunno," he stammered. "I mean, I'm the one who got them as a present."

"Must've been a fortune," Dan said thoughtfully, staring at the box and the flowers. "And after only the second date, too?"

PJ bit his lip. 

"You met this guy in the club, just hanging around?" Phil asked suspiciously.

"W-well, yeah, kind of--"

"Isn't that, like, just a little weird?" Dan cut in.

"I mean..." PJ sighed. "I don't know. I trust him."

"And we trust you, PJ," Phil quickly assured, "But..."

"But?"

"We're also worried," Dan said, his eyes too earnest.

PJ sighed. "I know that you are, but--I just...it's all so weird, but I  _trust_ him."

"Why?" Phil asked softly.

"Because..." He looked around the room, at the slightly crushed flowers, at the chocolates in the corner. "Because...remember, what you said to me, Phil? When you first met Dan, and you were talking to me about how cute he was? You said that it's crazy, but even in a crowded room he's the light that sticks out to you."

Phil nodded. Dan blushed and went over to sit next to Phil instinctively.

"I just...he makes me  _feel_ that way," PJ said quietly. "Like I'm his light, and he's mine."

Phil nodded again, and the way that he held Dan's hand made PJ's heart  _ache._

He thought about the flowers, about the chocolate, about Chris's twinkling eyes. He thought about Chris's weird behavior about his job, about the items he had dripping in luxury.

He thought about Chris at the club, eyes smoky and mysterious, smirk fixed perfect and sweet.

He thought about  _Chris._ And he couldn't help the smile that broke out across his face, forceful and needy.

"I just...he's my light," PJ repeated. "And I've only known him for a week."

Dan looked at him. "You're crazy," he decided. "But you've been sensible far too long, so I guess that's fine."

Phil nodded yet again. He was chewing at his lip. "Just...be careful," he said. "For me. Be careful."

 


	6. Chapter 6

Contrary to popular belief, Chris didn't have a maid service.

His apartment wasn't even big enough to have maids, anyway.

 

Chris wasn't a big fan of living extravagantly. Sure, he liked to have a wide collection of wines, and he owned several apartments across some cities. But his favorite couch is from IKEA, all of his blankets are synthetic and have weird stains on them, and almost all of his dishes are hard plastic. He only owns about five pairs of jeans, and he was quite a big fan of flannels.

So no, he's not a  _complete_ asshole about his wealth. _  
_

Chris sighs, and sets the contract back down on his desk. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't concentrate on the words droning  _on_ and  _on_ about commissions and beneficiaries and all other types of crap. He stares warily at the big stack of white papers on his left, all stapled and crisp and ready to be meticulously gone through. He runs a hand through his hair; at this rate, he'll be completely gray before he reaches thirty.

Without even thinking, Chris grabs his phone and punches in PJ's number.

He answers before the first ring even finishes, and Chris smiles without even meaning to.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" PJ asks, his voice warm and syrupy. Chris feels something ball up in his stomach, but it's pleasant. 

It's always pleasant when it comes to PJ.

"What are solutions to gray hair?" Chris asks PJ.

"Are you  _going_ gray?" PJ asks, sounding dubious.

"At this rate, I probably will," Chris groans into the phone. "I'm only twenty-six, as well. Maybe I could sue my company for causing unnecessary stress. Is that a viable lawsuit?"

"I don't know," PJ says. "What kind of company do you work at, anyway?"

"Ah, you might think you're crafty, but you're  _not,_ " Chris says.

"I just wanted to check to see if you were a drug overlord," PJ says. He sounds a bit put-out. "After all, if you were, then I could make a film about it."

"That might actually be a viable plot, you should look into it."

"Yeah, but then I wouldn't know whether to put 'Based on a True Story' in the subtitles."

"You could put ' _M_ _aybe_ Based on a True Story'," Chris suggests. "That'd certainly intrigue people."

"Chriiiisssss," PJ says.

"Peeeeeeej," Chris says.

"I just want to know where you work, is that too much to ask?" PJ points out.

"I'll tell you," Chris says. Looking around his office, at the clear glass that served as the walls. At the plated-gold plaque that read  _Chris Kendall, CEO of Kend-All, Be All Hotels._ At his stupid Rolodex watch and suit that costs enough to feed the entire nation for a year. He sighs through his nose. "At some point. I'll tell you."

PJ sighs. "Fine."

***

When Chris gets home that night, he feels  _weird._

Not sick or anything. But hollow, like he's been molded from clay and hollowed out. 

He throws his shoes into the living room somewhere--he'll find them later--and changes into sweatpants and an old sweatshirt almost immediately.

He still feels weird. He feels like pinching himself, just to see if he could feel pain still.

He sighs. Stares at his work phone.

And shuts it off.

 

It's not as if he's  _tired,_ except he really is.

The business world just really isn't for Chris.

It was fun at first; like playing monopoly in real life. Moves and counter-moves, and counter-moves to counteract the counter-moves. Like the world was a big chess board.

And then Chris remembered his short run in the chess club, where he'd gotten so bored after a week that he'd tipped the board over and took a butter knife to the Queen to see whether it was sharp enough to nick her. 

(Surprisingly, it was. The chess club supervisor wasn't too thrilled about that.)

And then, there was the whole thing with PJ.

 

He was just so  _PJ._

Certainly not, like, the most unique person out there. He was pretty much the cliche protagonist out of romance novels. But, apparently, Chris was really attracted to boys with dopey smiles and big blue eyes and a heart too big for its own good.

And he just seemed like the world hadn't stepped on him yet. He seemed so  _hopeful,_ so  _loving._ And Chris just... _Chris just._

He sighed, and stared at his apartment. At his stupid ordinary apartment with too-expensive wine and sheets. 

And then he stared at his suitcase, and thought about London.

He got up and stretched.

 

If Chris wanted to be ready to go to London in two weeks, he'd at least better start organizing.


	7. Chapter 7

"A  _dancing_ bar?"

"Yup!" Chris sounds too excited for this.

"A...dancing...bar," PJ repeats. "Why?"

"You did say that Dan and Phil wanted to double-date," Chris offers.

"Yeah, but they don't dance, you idiot," PJ says. "And for the record, I think this is an awful idea."

"The dancing, or the double-date?"

"Both," PJ says. "Definitely both."

"C'mon," Chris says. "It'll be fun."

"You've never even met my friends," PJ points out. "You could hate them."

"Well, worst-case scenario, I upstage them with my dancing skills," Chris says. "Unless...unless you really don't want to."

"No--no, of course I want to," PJ says. "But, God, this is like meeting the family or something, and you've known me for barely two weeks."

"Look," Chris says. "I--I just, it's been a good two weeks. For me. And...I like you a lot, PJ. And I want this to last, which means I have to meet your friends sometime, PJ."

PJ groans. He's  _so_ going to regret this later. This is the worst decision he's ever made. And he's dating a not-stripper who had a serious possibility of being a drug dealer.

"Fine."

***

The funny thing is about a dancing bar is that it's pretty much a regular bar, except there are less seats.

The place is rather big--not ballroom size, but the wood floors are polished and gleaming, and there were only a few nicks and strange stains patterning the paneling.

It was painted a bland beige, and the bar sits nestled into a corner, a few stools sat around it. The bartender was leaning on the corner of the bar, paging through an edition of Vogue idly.

The room was actually pretty full--couples were dancing with each other, oddly organized. It seemed to be a simple waltz, the bass thumping through the speakers and setting the pace to the couples' movements.

PJ stared in awe of the entire thing, letting Dan and Phil trail after him, looking a little confused.

"I've never heard of a dancing bar," Phil says conversationally. "Las Vegas is weird."

"Let's get drinks. I need drinks," Dan decides.

Phil eyes him. "Why?"

"Well, I'm about to be married--"

"--to me. And that's not gonna last much longer if you keep saying stuff like this," Phil says.

"Um. So. Where's your beautiful Chris?" Dan asks, and PJ thinks he can sense a note of panic in his voice, and he has to hide a smile.

"PJ!"

PJ turns, and he has to stop his dick from doing something stupid.

It's not that Chris is wearing something  _intentionally_ sexy. It's just skinny jeans and a button-up shirt, really not anything different than what PJ is wearing. But the way his eyes look under the bright, flashing lighting, and the way his skin is shining with a light layer of sweat (it's a little hot, here)--makes PJ feel dumb, like his mouth is lead and his eyes are permanently glued into a wide-eyed expression.

"You must be Chris," Phil says, stepping in front of PJ. "I'm Phil. This is Dan."

"Wow, he really is as pretty as you say," Dan remarks, giving Chris a very appraising glance.

Phil sighs. "I'm divorcing you."

"We're not even  _married_ yet," Dan mumbles.

"Yes, and I'm getting a divorce. Do you have a problem with that?"

" _Yes,_ actually, I love you."

"Let's get drinks. I need drinks," Phil says, taking Dan's hand and dragging him toward the bar.

 

Chris raises an eyebrow at PJ. "Those are your friends?"

"Well, I say 'friends'...," PJ says.

"They're great," Chris says firmly, and grabs him by the wrist. "Let's dance."

"Um, Chris, I don't--I mean. I don't dance," PJ says. 

"But this is a dancing bar," Chris says, confused.

"That you invited me to," PJ shoots back.

"You could have just said no," Chris points out.

"But I didn't want to."

"Why not?"

"Because--because I like you, you idiot," PJ blurts out.

Chris's face practically splits in half with his wide smile. "You do?"

"Duh. Why else would I be going on so many dates with you in a two-week period? We've beaten out some long-lasting couples, at this point."

Chris laughs, and tugs on PJ's arm. "C'mon," he says.

"But, I don't know how to dance," PJ argues. 

Chris just smiles, and it's warm and reminds PJ of hot chocolate, somehow. "Don't worry. I'll lead."

***

Dan swallows some more of his beer, and looks at Chris leading PJ out onto the dance floor. "Why can't we be that cute?" He complains to Phil.

"Well, probably because we're not secretly super rich, and you're kind of annoying," Phil says, staring at Dan with an expression that's somehow a mixture of annoyance and fondness at the same time.

"You think he's secretly super rich?" Dan asks, staring out at the boy leading PJ in some version of the foxtrot. (PJ's really quite horrible at it. It's amusing to watch.)

"Well, obviously. He can ballroom dance, send PJ a  _limo,_ take him up in a  _jet,_ and give him expensive chocolate and even more expensive flowers. Those things looked more like fancy jewels than something you'll just pick up at the grocery store."

"You know, that is some pretty solid evidence right there," Dan decides, before taking another swig of his beer.

Phil nods. "Of course PJ gets the Prince Charming. Figures."

"Phil, are you--"

"No, Dan. No.  _No,_ " he says, fierce. Determined. He grabs Dan's hand, and interlaces their fingers together. "I wouldn't want anyone but you. In any lifetime, in any dimension, I'd choose you, okay? Don't even think of something like that."

Dan smiles at him, and stands up. "Um, so this was kinda meant to be a surprise," Dan says, "but come with me."

Phil groans. "Dan, if you're going to--"

"No, no. Just...come on," he says.

Phil reluctantly lets Dan drag him into the edge of the throng, just as the song changes to something slower, sweeter.

"Just put your hand on my waist, and let me lead," Dan instructs.

Phil rolls his eyes, but lets him.

And Dan is  _graceful._ In a way that Phil never thought he could be, but his long limbs are connected and swooping and irresistible under the lights of the bar, and he effortlessly twirls Phil all around, a honeysuckle smile on his face the whole time. Phil is breathless, and he's not sure if it's because of the dancing or his soon-to-be-husband.

Too soon, the song ends, and Dan's back to his bashful, awkward posture, and his veiled smile. Still beautiful, still  _Dan,_ but.

"Where'd you--?"

"It was for our wedding. Lessons, so you wouldn't worry," Dan says.

"Where did you find the time?"

Dan grimaces and thinks of all the times he and Louise had stumbled through that goddamned routine. "Don't worry about it, honey."

"You're the most cliched thing I've ever laid eyes on," Phil laughs, pressing his head in the hollow of Dan's neck. "I love you."

Dan kisses the top of Phil's head. "I love you, too."

***

"You know, I was, um, thinking--"

"Yeah?" Chris says.

"Well, I mean--you're good at dancing. There's dancing at this place. Um. And--" PJ sighs. "I'm not good at this."

Chris raises his eyebrows. "At what?"

PJ plants his feet down, stopping their dancing. Chris's eyebrows just go higher.

"What are you asking me?" Chris asks.

"It's just--I mean, obviously Dan and Phil are getting married, I mean,  _have you seen them,_ and. Well, I was wondering, if, you'd, like to, with me, you don't have to, but I'd love it if you did, and--"

"Yes."

"It's not the most important thing to me, and I mean I like you a lot but I get it if you don't want to go to a  _wedding_ with me and what did you say?"

"Yes, PJ," Chris laughs. "Of course I'd love to go with you. When is it?"

"Three days from now. If you're busy, that's cool--"

 Chris presses his lips to PJ's, long, and drawn-out. "Of course I want to," he whispered. "All you had to do is ask."

PJ's smile is too big and dopey and it has to spread to Chris's to get enough room.

***

"Dude, I want to get married, so if you're expecting me to split the bill with you, you've got another thing coming," Dan says, staring at the menu, alarmed. Phil is nodding vigorously along with him.

It's fancy. Even fancier than the destination for their first date, and PJ didn't even know that was  _possible._ If he didn't know better, he'd think that the tablecloth was embedded with diamonds and embroidered with gold.

Chris laughs. "Nah, don't worry about it. I'll cover it."

"Aren't we...a little out-of-place?" PJ murmurs to him, staring at the waiters staring at them. Still sweaty from dancing, and PJ's shirt smells like beer because of Dan's numerous hugs throughout the night. (When he's tipsy, he loves everyone. Which is a stark change from the usual state of affairs.)

"This place doesn't even put the price  _on the menu,_ " Phil says in wonder. "How does that even work? Do they just expect you to sell your house before coming here?"

"Don't worry," Chris repeats, "I've got it." He's still smiling, but it's a little more fixed in place. PJ looks over at him with vaguely concealed concern.

"Wait," Dan says, "So. How could you  _afford_ this for you, much less for all three of us? Where do you even work?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinda short but it advances the plot so idk???

_"Wait," Dan says. "So. How could you afford this for yourself, much less for all four of us? Where do you even work?"_

 

Chris immediately beams at them. "It's a secret," he says, lifting up his champagne glass. "I personally enjoy secrets a lot." He wiggles his eyebrows a bit to sell it, before taking a long pull from his drink.

PJ frowns. He gets that Chris is trying to be funny, but now that he thinks about it--Chris hasn't been _entirely_ honest about _anything_ since he'd started talking to him.

"Maybe it's a secret meant to be shared," Phil suggests. His tone is friendly enough, but his eyes look shadowed.

"Are _any_ secrets meant to be shared?" Chris asks. "If you think about it, that's a really interesting philosophical question."

"Well," Dan says, "I personally think harmless secrets are meant to be shared."

"Are any secrets truly harmless?" Chris shoots back.

PJ winces, because _that_ was a fatal mistake.

This won't be good.

"Is yours?" Phil asks.

Chris freezes. PJ's heart sinks.

 _He wouldn't lie to me,_ PJ promises himself. _He wouldn't. He says it was legal, and I believe him. I believe him._

_I believe him._

"I don't think that's any of your business," Chris says, after a long pause.

"I really think it is," Dan says. 

"What--? Wait, do you think...that what I do isn't legal?" Chris asks.

Dan and Phil stare at him. Their eyes are hard, and Dan's arms are crossed, and PJ is both touched by their concern and mildly annoyed at how parent-like they're being.

Chris laughs, but his voice sounds on the edge of nerves. "It's perfectly legal," he says. "Almost annoyingly so."

"Then why don't you want to tell us?" Dan and Phil ask in unison.

"Guys, maybe you're being too hard on him--" PJ interrupts, but Chris just shakes his head.

"'s okay," he assures PJ. "It's just, I don't want you guys, to, like, treat me differently or anything."

Now PJ's just confused. "Why would I ever treat you differently, Chris? I thought you were a stripper at first, and I'm still here."

"Wait, you _what?_ " Dan asks, but no one pays attention to him. PJ's eyes are stuck on Chris's.

Chris's poker face doesn't waver.

"This is kind of big," Chris says softly.

"What is it?" PJ asks. "If you want to tell me, that is."

Chris takes a deep breath, and places his hands on the table. He can see his tense shoulders, the slight wobble of his neck, and suddenly PJ's worried. He takes one of Chris's hands automatically.

"It's just...I'm pretty wealthy, right? Not that that, like, makes me an asshole by the way--I'm an asshole of my own volition--but that's beside the point. Which is that the reason for that, is that I work for a hotel chain company that's pretty popular."

PJ tilts his head. "Hotel service? That doesn't pay much, last time I checked."

Chris swallows. "Yeah, by that I mean...I kind of...run it?"

***

The rest of the dinner goes by awkwardly.

Dan and Phil trip over topics and banter, taking turns staring at Chris, whose eyes never lost PJ's.

And PJ--well, he's just blank. Everything's blank, because-- _Chris is a CEO. He's the 1%. He's a millionaire._

And he never told PJ.

 

Eventually, Dan and Phil leave early, leaving Chris and PJ to finish up.

When Chris asks PJ to go with him to his apartment after the bill's settled, PJ agrees immediately.

There's a _lot_ of questions PJ has.

 

They get into the cab silently. Chris is biting down on his lip, rubbing his wrists nervously, and PJ's mind is a whirlwind of half-formed thoughts.

Eventually, he settles on: "When were you going to tell me?"

Chris exhales slowly, through his nose. PJ just waits, not sure if he really wants to know the answer. "I don't know," Chris says, finally. "I know that I was, I just..." he trails off.

PJ just nods. "Okay," he says, "okay."

Chris rubs the back of his neck. "I just--there's this new branch of hotels, that we were gonna work on, in London. _Oscar's_ _Hotels._ Named after this guy who came up with it--genius, but a little offbeat--so, that's how I was going to go to England. It's a risky endeavor, but I think it could be really rewarding if we plan them out right, put them in the right locations."

PJ nods again. It makes sense, and it's good that Chris was considering going to London even without him--makes his chest seem to work a little easier. "Why are you also a stripper?"

Chris smiles. Just for a flash, and it's gone, but PJ can see how his eyes light up. "It was originally just a joke, just something to make a story out of, but it turned out to be _fun._ It was just something that divorced the me in suits, and the me who wanted to have fun. Which probably sounds crazy, but it just made me _happy._ "

There's one more question that's burning the tip of PJ's tongue. He isn't sure he wants to hear the answer, but--he needs to.

"Why me?"

Chris pauses.

"Why not?" is what Chris says instead.

PJ frowns. "What?"

"Why not?" Chris repeats, and his eyes begin to glow under the cab's dim car light. "I don't know, I guess, is what I'm trying to say. But when I first saw you in that club, even through all those people...I don't know, you just stuck out to me. Like you were the only Christmas light working on a string, or something."

PJ's heart stutters.

The cab pulls to the curb, and PJ looks up.

 

The apartment building isn't too extravagant, but the curves, the black coloring all leaked wealth out from the sides.

Kind of like Chris.

Chris, who was still sitting in the cab, waiting for PJ to say something.

 

And, well, PJ's had his suspicions.

About Chris, and his wealth. And maybe this was bigger than what PJ imagined, weirder than he thought, but Chris was Chris at the end of the day.

And hell, if PJ can date a stripper, he can certainly date a millionaire.

He leans across the cab seat and catches Chris's mouth with his own.

He can feel Chris's smile through the kiss, and that makes PJ's smile and his heart soar. He pulls apart slowly, and looks into Chris's eyes. "I'll see you soon, okay?"

Chris smiles. He almost looks a little shy, with just endears PJ further. "You still want to spend time with me, even after all this?"

 

PJ just laughs, and pokes Chris in the side. "Time is money," he says, "and honey, you look like a million bucks."

 

And Chris's smile breaks out, far too wide to just be for PJ, and kisses PJ softly.

 

 

 


End file.
